Failure and Acceptance
by thought x crime
Summary: We never really got to see what Xu was like; how she felt, who she really was deep inside... well, now you know what was really going through her head the entire time...


"Failure and Acceptance" -- by Allora Atwater  
  
A/N: Special mega-thanks to Kat, who actually came up with this idea! This is Xu's monologue; and although we don't get to know much about her, I'm going to dig beneath the surface and bend the rules a bit to tell you all about Xu! BTW, I seem to enjoy creating morbid monologues *shrugs* I guess the dark side of life is more interesting sometimes! I might even do one of these for all the characters, if I'm really doing okay with this... I dunno though. We'll see! And yes, I'm back at ff.net! Sorry I've been gone so long everyone!  
  
Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me. Not even the idea. How sad is that?  
  
  
Fear is a powerful emotion. It can drive people to do things they never thought they could do, it can control your life and warp you into something you never wanted to be. It can break you, leave you writhing in your own personal darkness. Some people see the light throughout their terror, they can reach out for it and run towards it, arms outstretched, fingers tingling with fervency. That light is the light of hope, the illumination cast within the dim shadows of diffidence. Some people find that light and clutch it like a lifeline. Others, like me, wallow in the affrightment, whatever traces of phosphorescence vanquished in the swell of misgiving.   
  
Apprehension is not a mask that suits me well, so I dance amidst responsibility and reason, praying that a logical mind and collected facade invite success. I have perfected every aspect of my working-woman persona; playing the part of the intelligent, even-tempered assistant, prompt, punctual and polite, never failing to complete my assignments. I have never let down my superiors or the students at Garden. My professional appearance is nothing more than an appartition however, a crafty shell of repose blended with placid indifference. I hide behind my own shadow, wallowing in my own chaotic insecurities.  
  
My disquietude spawns from a need to conquer, a hollow hungering for acceptance and respect. It's deeper than a fierce need, more powerful than a burning will. Good fortune and the continuation of prosperity are the very elements that drive me to my feet every morning, force me to keep a cool head about all the commonplace desideratum I am surrounded by. But what is it that I fear, more than fear itself? Failure. I'm afraid to fall from grace and subvert all of which I labored to attain.  
  
I don't think anyone understands the amount of pressure that accompanies my occupation. They take my presence for granted, as if anyone in Balamb had the qualifications to assume my position at Garden. They think their Headmaster bears the burden for them, they run to him with their hands out in supplication as though he is the one who will take them aside and personally solve their problems. But do you know what he really does? He recites a list of obscure adjectives and then weighs the hinderance on my shoulders. I'm the pedestal of the Garden in its entirety, doing the dirty work behind the scenes, pulling strings to acquiesce Mr. Kramer's every order.  
  
What did I ever get? I never got a fancy title, I never got a medal of honor. I was never given the recognition I rightfully earned. But the wrathful indignation that accompanies a fault of acknowledgement is perhaps the least of my concerns. I'm not troubled by my lack of appreciation, but more for the fears that fester in the back of my worrysome mind. I fear faux pas, disgrace. I'm afraid that my efforts will become ineffectual, that I will fail miserably in my attempt to rectify every quagmire the student body faces. My postion of authority allows no room for mistakes, blunders, or wrong measures.  
  
I came to Garden seeking corroboration and assent, solid ground to steady my trembling disposition. It was the opportunity of a lifetime, to hone my hidden skills and bask in the glow of acclamation. What I expected and what I received were two separate issues. Granted, I had never expected to become so much as a SeeD, much less the Headmaster's personal assistant, but my aspirations for the position itself were grossly overestimated. I anticipated the workload, the responsibility, the rationality. I did not forsee my use as a lapdog coming into play. Seifer thought he was disgraced as the Sorceress' puppet; how do you think I feel being the Headmaster's mule? At least Seifer wasn't fully aware of his actions at the time they were executed; he had been manipulated, twisted into a brainless flake. I am completely conscious of every move I make, and yet I have no say in what I do.  
  
Regardless, I press on morning after morning, night after night, complying with demands and meeting the needs of the Garden without hesitation. I never raise any complaints or inferences, never thought to question my own standing in this social power play. The only concern that plagues my confidence, causing me to falter when finding my foothold, is my overwhelming cowardice, the concern that I will be pushed to boundaries I cannot exceed. It's only a matter of time before my limitations are tested, strained, and inevitably corroded. It's only a matter of time before the effulgence of security completely dissipates from my line of vision and I succumb to my innermost fears.  



End file.
